Lost in a world of baby toys, diapers and a much-younger wife -- while trying to retain my sanity.
OK, so now I'm sharing. For those of you who've seen my posts on Facebook, you know that my wonderful wife Kelly is about to give birth to our first child. I started shaking just typing that last line. I'm just not ready for this. After nine months of discussions, the bun is about to come out of the oven. So to speak.
We know it's a girl. We're still trying to land on a name that everyone likes. My suggestion of Pandora was vetoed. Oh well. I have no problem calling her "Baby Girl." Not sure if anyone else will get the joke.
My friend Rob Wilder wrote a book called "Daddy needs a Drink." I'm having that tattooed on my chest. It sums up my feelings exactly. Rob—anytime.
This is my second marriage —the first was as about as enjoyable as a root canal, hence no children. I figured that I dodged the bullet, but lo and behold, wife number 2 proved to be the one. My baby mama. At 52, I'm gonna be a first-time daddy. To a daughter, no less. I got a firearm and a shovel, so her potential suitors are forewarned.
We're due on Christmas day. I've made enough jokes about the Anti-Christ and the end of the world, to repeat any of them here. But if the earth suddenly turns into a ball of fire this month, deep in my heart I know my progeny will have had something to do it. It IS the end of the world as I know it. God bless us all—everyone.
This is just the opening salvo in what will be a continuing adventure of bottles, diapers, no sleep and loss of sanity. I'll back-track a bit in the next blog, and talk about ultra-sounds, baby classes, mucous plugs and the rest of the fun stuff.
Stay tuned—more as it develops. And if you see my car on the side of the road in a snowstorm this month, pull over and see if you can help. I might even let you cut the cord. Or my throat.